And Now I Am Marie
by Lawr
Summary: Marius feels left alone when Cosette dies in childbirth, left with nothing but a daughter he's not sure he can love. But does this feeling change as she grows? Maybe he'll relate to someone in his past a little more than he thought. First Cosette/Marius.


**A/N: Okay. Forgive me. I wrote a Cosette/Marius fanfic, and I'm not really a fan-not until I read Wendla Bergmann's epic story ****Torn Apart.**** Before then, no. Now, maybe. Anyway, this is an idea she and I tossed around on a train once. I'm probably not doing her justice, since she is the ultimate Cosette/Marius know-how and I'm just a wee beginner. :D But anyway. If you like, tell me if I should do more, or if I should leave it alone. Either way has a good ending. **

_**Remember, reviews are like those days when you think nothing good's gonna happen, and then somebody randomly bakes cupcakes for your history class. :P**_

_And Now I am Marie_

It was a cold, unforgiving night: he was chilled without the arms of his loved one and frightened by the cries of a stranger. Thunder shook the frames of his windows, loneliness his soul.

Across his wide, empty house, Marius leaned against the wall, head in hands, shoulders scrunched up against his ears to maybe provide some shelter from her wails. His eyes were swollen and red from crying: they hurt to bury in his arms. He'd sought some peace at this end of their small house, but it was no use. Everywhere he went there was some sign of her: even in this, their house-_their_ house-the house they had bought together, for their family. He, Cosette, and the baby. Marius made a noise, then-was it scorn? Contempt? Anger? Who knew what plagued the heart of a man when half of it had been ripped away.

The baby cried louder, and the thunder snarled over it. Marius closed his eyes against it, knowing it wouldn't help not to see. Lightning split the angry clouds outside in two, tearing white across the sky and drenching it eggshell pale for one sickly moment. Not like Cosette had ever been. No, she'd always been happy, blushing furiously whenever he made her laugh or called her beautiful. But in the last day, she'd been the same candlewax colour of the sky, the last memory he had of her face drowned in that pallid glow. Marius cursed the baby for it, then took it back at the last moment. No, Cosette would not want him to think that way. Cosette had loved this baby-what it meant for them, what it made her. It made her the proud mother of a family, the beaming wife of a father. But now she was none of that. She was gone, and she had deserted him.

He moaned into his arms, expecting to cry again, but his eyes didn't seem to shed any more tears.

But he couldn't just let her die. Her, no-it? No. _Her_ reminded him too much of Cosette-the only _her_ he'd ever thought about. But _it_ was wrong, no, Cosette wouldn't want that. Cosette hadn't picked out a name, preferring to name it when the baby was born, based on her eyes, if it was raining, whether she looked like Marius or herself. But she hadn't stayed long enough to see her, and from the one glance Marius had gotten, her eyes were red and shut tight against the horrors of this world, and it was certainly raining.

A hint of curiosity stirred in his chest at that thought, a blossom of hope. Did she look like Cosette? He knew it would never be enough to sustain him-no, Cosette was gone. But could her child harbour the same curved lips, the same bright cheeks? Perhaps if she were to have just a hint of her mother, Marius would be all right.

He got up, leaned both forearms against a banister and stretched, working the creases out of himself from being folded up with grief. He'd been there for six or seven hours-Good lord, had it only been that few?-since Cosette-since he'd brought home the baby. At first, after the screaming, after the sobbing, Marius had found a twisted, bitter humour in it. Leave me now, Cosette? he thought, silently watching the clouds draw in. You know as well as I do that I can't take care of myself, let alone babies, and I'm absolutely dreadful around girls.

He started his slow walk across the house, footsteps echoing much too loud in such a wide, lonely house. At least the thunder was there to keep him company and lend him strength. At first he'd thought he'd collapse onto Cosette's bed, thank the midwife with tearful eyes for his child, and take the babe into his arms, but that hadn't happened. When she'd told him, his eyes were blank and unbelieving. He had backed away until he hit a wall, and she'd asked if he wanted to say goodbye.

No. No, he didn't want his last image of Cosette as in death, as in finality. Sickness was better than that. He shook his head vigourously, and she had thrust the screaming bundle into his unprepared arms.

From there, he'd put her in the nursery, the sunny sky-blue one that Cosette had devoted hours to making the curtains and clothes. Then he'd backed away as if he'd committed a sin and hadn't left the corner since. But he was almost to the room now, and it was time to face his fears. At least for Cosette, he told himself grimly, pushing open the creaky nursery door. I should at least figure out what to call her.

He sat down gingerly as peals of thunder grumbled overhead, and the pitter-patter of rain spattered the windows. She cried. Carefully, he raised a hand to maybe push the few strands of hair back from her head, but he couldn't. At least he was looking at her. At least she was safe. In his swirl of heightened emotions, he didn't know what he felt: if it was love, relief, anger, regret. He resolutely doubted he would ever love this child as he'd loved Cosette. After all, there was only room in his heart for one woman, and if half of it was torn up and gone, then he couldn't give any more out.

"Where are you, Cosette? Where are you now?" he murmured to the empty air and maybe the newborn as well. The thunder murmured distantly in response. The baby went silent at hearing her mother's name, and Marius leaned forward.

"Cosette?" he tried foolishly, a charm for himself and for the child. She was still silent, watching him, pondering. Her eyes had opened now and they were dark as his had never been. They were Cosette's eyes, but darker and sadder and more infinite. He would lose himself trying to find her in those depths. He felt a little better by this, and tried again. "Well, you can't have her name. Cosette Pontmercy. I never even got used to the sound of it…"At 'Pontmercy', again, her eyes closed, as if she was in peace. Marius laughed a little, his lungs feeling worn-out and tired and old.

"Well, you can't have that, either, that's my last name. Our last name." It felt strange to say it, talking to this new and mysterious child of his. Maybe she liked the sound of it, he thought, and tried again.

"What's your name, baby? Penny?"

Nothing-a silent, stoic child, thunder as a judge.

"Mercy?" he tried, but he knew that for a stretch. It sounded, frankly, like a prostitute name, and 'Mercy Pontmercy' was poor. Poorer than poor, Cosette would have said, laughing. It's drastically poor. It needs charity from us. Come, let's go make up a basket and we can have a picnic before we go.

He looked hard into his daughter's eyes, wondering if Cosette was in there somewhere, waiting for her name. What would she have picked? Marius thought, then decided that it didn't matter. Naming her was solely his responsibility, the first of many.

"Marie?" he said faintly, and the baby laughed.

No, it wasn't a laugh. It was a faint giggle, a sound she had to try out, or a stretch of her voice. But it was the first thing he heard from her that wasn't a cry, and it was the first thing from him that didn't remind him so painfully of Cosette.

"Marie," he tried again, and she smiled. He got up, carefully, and crossed to her cradle. She held her stubby baby arms out to him, and he knelt to pick her up, awkwardly.

"Marie," he said, half a twisted, joyful smile on his face, the other half a sob. He wiped the tearstains from his face, felt the unkempt stubble of his cheek against the soft new skin of this curious little daughter. The thunder clapped, and for once, it didn't sound angry or upset.

It felt like a beginning.


End file.
